Ettrick: The City of the Damned
by SarianDamodred
Summary: On the war-torn world of Ettrick, Inquisitor Comyn fights for his very sanity against his old enemies.


The black rains are falling on Ettrick. Usually, this is a symbol of promise, as the nutrient-rich precipitation only occurs once a year. But this time, instead of pouring down the gutters of bright marble buildings, it splashed from battle-scarred ruins and half-destroyed monuments.  
  
In one of these ruins, Kayla McCall crouched under a half-burnt tarp, trying to see more than three inches out of the curtain of water. Her once- neat and pressed uniform had been slashed and burned, the burning sleeves cut away, and the shirt torn down the back by the claws of a mutant. Death had come to Ettrick.  
  
In an adjacent district of the city, in a burnt husk that had been a wreck even before a heavy flamer reduced it to rubble, Damon Andrews straightened his greatcoat over his knees where he sat for at least the three-hundreth time, and waited for the rains to stop and the mutants come again. War had come to Ettrick.  
  
And in the broken and pummelled Administratum building at the heart of this blight on the once-pristine planet of the Imperium, Inquisitor Comyn faced off against a monstrocity. The traitor Warsmith stood fully eight feet tall, the massive servo-arms on his back bearing the iron colors of his Legion. His voice hissed through his external speakers like a death rattle.  
  
"Do not try to hinder me, fool. You cannot stop me." "That may be," replied Comyn, "But I will do my best. His psycannon remained fixed on the Warsmith's head, unwavering from its mount on his shoulder. The Warsmith brought his power axe up until the spike pointed directly at Comyn's fiery head. "Do not test my patience. Begone, or die."  
  
Comyn laughed, a small chuckle, which seemed horribly out of place in these dark surroundings. "I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus. I do not scare easily!" The lunge, the clash, as weapons meet in air and sparks fly. Back and forth, the champions struggle, seeking advantage.  
  
"You cannot win," panted Comyn, "You should submit. I will give you an honorable death."  
  
He could almost imagine the Iron Warrior's sneer. "I shall never submit to you, scum."  
  
He suddenly pressed forward, his axe turning Comyn's rune-staff at every slash. Comyn was pressed back into a ruined pillar. The Warsmith had just raised his axe for a death-blow when eight bolter rounds struck him in the back. With a bestial roar, the Warsmith hurled himself at the offender- and was killed in a single sweep of a crozius arcanum. Standing over the fallen traitor, the Chaplain knelt and said a brief prayer. Comyn only half- listened to the Prayer of the Damned, as the other half of his mind wandered. He had made planetfall a week before the first invasion, with a mismatched band; this enigmatic Chaplain who had been sent by some Inquisitor Lord he had never heard of, his bodyguard Damon, and an arco- flagellant, Alakor 12427, who had been destroyed within two days of landing in a barfight in a slum.  
  
A sudden clatter in one corner of the ruined building caused every weapon in the building to point at the same place. Damon stumbled as he climbed down the pile of rubble, pulling the woman by one arm.  
  
She cast aside his arm, and spoke with a trace of a Templar accent. "What do you planks want with me? I'm a Glory Boy, and I don't take well to slaps from gunbabies like you!"  
  
Inquisitor Comyn blinked at this onslaught. "Excuse me?"  
  
She sighed loudly. "First I'm quaffing some swill disguised as Amasec, then my Hangman's getting bled out by a faulty nine-seventy and my aquad's getting slagged by a cooker, and then I'm takin' a one-way-ticket in this mudhole with a band'a'leftovers who go scrambled at some twists and now I'm fighting for my life! And now all you lot show up."  
  
Comyn was by now completely confused. "Excuse me?"  
  
Damon shrugged from behind the strange woman. "That was Imperial Guard slang. I think she means: 'First I'm drinking some kind of strange alcoholic beverage, then my Commisar is getting killed by a faulty trench- digger, and then I'm hot-dropping into Ettrick with a ragtag band of soldiers who go combat-crazy because of mutants.'"  
  
She had been glaring at him, hands on hips, for most of this translation. "That's what I said!  
  
Comyn shut his mouth. "And your name is?"  
  
She flipped her red braid behind her with a well-practiced toss of her head. "What's yours, bigmouth?"  
  
Comyn was a little startled by her direct and sudden response. "Inquisitor Comyn, of the Ordo Hereticus."  
  
She sighed again. "Oh great, a longnose."  
  
Comyn was looking mildly irritated.  
  
"Sir, I think she means-"  
  
"I know what she bloody means! What's her name!"  
  
"Me? I'm Kayla." The daemon Alakorrax looked with flaming eyes across the bleak landscape, dreaming dark dreams of blood and violence. This had been a great victory, he knew, with more than a million skulls placed at great Khorne's feet. But the Bloodthirster was wary of assuming that he had won so easily- especially with the rumors that the Warsmith Gretaan had fallen in Arlek City to the south. There had to be at least one enemy of considerable power left to fight, if not more.  
  
"My lord, I have the trophy you asked for." A growling voice burst in on Alakorrax's private thoughts, surprising a snarl from the horned being.  
  
"What? What do you want?" Alakorrax spun, quickly for such a massive being, to look down into the face of the Tzeentchian sorcerer Eretar.  
  
"I have the trophy you asked for." On the large platter he carried, there rested two grim objects. Alakorrax smiled harshly and lifted one of the tokens. Ettrick was doomed. Comyn shook his head in disbelief as he saw Kayla and Dante holding an energetic and involved discussion from where they sat in the the edge of the firelight under a lip of rock jutting from the blasted wall behind them. He wanted to go over and join in, but the strange woman had been hushing up every time he came near. Comyn was desperate for human attention, and decided to try to engage the mighty Terminator in a discussion from where the massive warrior stood silent, staring out into the night, the reflection of the fire dancing on his polished backplate.  
  
"Excuse me?" He stood up, holding a steaming mug of soup in one hand. "Do you want any food?"  
  
The Chaplain did not move or speak. Comyn approached him and tapped him on the armored shoulder. "Excuse me?"  
  
The enigmatic warrior finally spoke. "It is dark tonight." His voice was deep, powerful, and rich, making Comyn feel mildly intimidated.  
  
Comyn frowned, a little scared and a little annoyed at himself for being scared. You're an Inquisitor, damn it! "Uh, yes, it is. I think it is a side effect of the Black Rain, actually."  
  
The Space Marine's gold skull-worked helmet did not move in a confirmation or denial, though his reply was emphatic. "No. It is a sign from the Emperor, that the forces of evil weigh heavily upon this scarred land."  
  
"Uh, well, you're the priest, heh heh... heh..." Comyn, aware his joke had fallen flat, retreated to his fireside position. Kayla slept, sprawled near the fire's warmth on her side, and Dante sat nearby, staring at her, his lips moving but with no sound. Comyn felt himself grow weary, his eyelids drooped, and the grey mists of sleep welled up around him.  
  
The next morning Comyn was shaken awake by Damon, who ahd an expression of alarm and urgency on his face. "Lord Comyn, Lord Comyn! Kayla's gone, with my hellgun!"  
  
Comyn snapped awake and was half on his feet before the aforenamed woman sauntered into the camp, followed by the familiar form of the Terminator Chaplain. In this better light Comyn got a better look at the strange girl. She was of average height, about twenty, with a lean and muscular physique, and a mane of red hair down her back, much like Comyn's own. She had a perfect face with high cheekbones and large green eyes, with full lips and a well-made chin. Her uniform was tattered and destroyed, the mark of whatever organization she had belonged to gone. Yet there was something in her bearing, maybe it was her stance, her stride, or her use of slang in her speech, that clearly marked her as Imperial Guard. Comyn had to admit, she looked the picture of a noble warrior, her hair, removed from its braid and flowing in the wind, framing her face against the mist. As soon as she entered the camp she walked over to Comyn and tossed a strange talisman at his head. When he caught it in a reflex, it was revealed to be a small representation of the Imperial Eagle, clutching a sword. It was a much- controversial symbol, the sign of a new faction in the Imperium, a group calling themselves the Sword of the Emperor. Led by a mysterious robed man calling himself simply The Prophet, they had been apparently fighting Chaos and the Imperium simultaneously. The possession of such a symbol had been deemed heresy, as it proclaimed the holder to be sympathetic to the cause, and was reason for instant death. Comyn found his voice. "What is this?"  
  
"I think you know, don't you, sir?"  
  
"What- How? These are heretical and forbidden!"  
  
"I know," she said simply.  
  
"Why- Who are you?"  
  
She shrugged. "I told you. I'm Kayla."  
  
"You know what I mean."  
  
"Do I?"  
  
"Damn it, woman! Alright, how's this? What regiment are you from?"  
  
"None."  
  
Comyn scowled. "What regiment were you from?"  
  
"You don't want to know."  
  
"I'll tell you if I want to know. Now where are you from?"  
  
"Fine. I'm Lieutenant Kayla McCall, formerly commander of a Stormtrooper Squad."  
  
"So? Why wouldn't I want to know that?"  
  
"Of the 7th Belovian."  
  
"You're right. I didn't want to know." A Belovian. A member of that heretic state that had seceded from the Emperor's glory and was known to ally with other heretics, xenos, and the general scum of the universe.  
  
"You asked." Four red-and-gold-armored Space Marines, bearing the symbols proclaiming their allegiance to the Blood God, Khorne, strode out of the transport that had carried them to this planet so far from the point where they had emerged into normal space once more. The lead one snarled, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm, as he surveyed what part of the plains he could see through the white mist obscuring the world. "I do not like this..."  
  
Another Marine glanced over through the skull-worked faceplate of his helmet. "Are you... scared, Merian?"  
  
The first Berzerker snarled again. "I am never scared, I just think that it is impossible to gain any skulls in this cursed place because of this bloody fog!"  
  
A third Marine chuckled, a horrible grating repetitive noise that reverberated seemingly even off the blank white walls of fog. "You must remember, brothers, that the only reason we are here is because we failed to take skulls in the first place. We-!"  
  
The Commissar kicked one of the fallen Chaos soldiers in the head. "Filthy bastards, like all of his kind, I suppose."  
  
A younger, gawky-looking man spoke up. "What, sir, the Dark God's warriors?"  
  
"No," said the Commissar, "Space Marines." Inquisitor Robertus Lachimedes exhaled, and he watched the cloud of white slowly disappear into the frigid air. He stood up again, and while rubbing his hands together furiously, paced back and forth in a fruitless attempt to stave off the chill, the twenty-fourth time he had done so in as many minutes. Confound that whelp! When I was his age, he'd be dead already, and some good Inquisitor would gain a bit more honor through it. This was not the first time that the venerable Inquisitor's plans had been thwarted by the upstart Comyn. Oh no. The first time had been on Eriet, yes, he could remember it clearly. The commander of said planet had been reputed to be sympathetic to the cause of the xeno Tau, something that no Inquisitor in his right mind would put up with. Comyn had been the agent assigned to deal with it, but when it had been discovered that the commander had plans and schemes of actually joining the aliens, Comyn had been removed, and Lachimedes appointed. Furious at being excluded, the young man had stowed away along with his bodyguard Andrews on Lachimedes' ship, and had secretly modified the arco-flagellant Alakor's activation word to be the word 'heretic' rather that 'Ultima'. When Lachimedes reached the commander, he was received warmly, and was taught about the Tau and their cause. For an instant he had wavered, and in that moment Comyn ruined everything. He came barging out from behind a bookcase and accused Lachimedes of treason at the highest level. Lachimedes, furious, tried to order Alakor to attack. When this failed, Comyn revealed what he had done and named Lachimedes a heretic, triggering Alakor in the process. Lachimedes had been forced to physically flee the palace, and he knew that he didn't cut exactly the most dashing figure, overweight and bald as he was, with large white sideburns and beard. On top of the humiliation, there was a full investigation of Lachimedes, and several hitherto unknown embarrassing aspects of his career had come to light. To save face, Lachimedes' direct superior ordered him to Niri, where he spent about three months policing the slums. When he had finally managed to get an interstellar assignment again, investigating pirates in the Hourai system, guess who but Comyn would show up, just as Lachimedes attempted to take a little of the pirate's loot as what he knew he rightly deserved, personal compensation for that time on Valhalla. Once again, Lachimedes was sent off to a backwater, this time the agri-world of Fenestro, as a small-time investigator. He got lucky, however, when a Ork Space Hulk crash-landed and in a valiant action he drove the Orks off the planet. What he told no-one was that he secretly met with the Ork boss and arranged for the boss to know several bits of key information about the defense of three critical star systems. Suspicious, Comyn showed up again, and promptly discovered the whole thing, and now Lachimedes was back on Niri, this time to get some 'rest and recuperation'. How you could do that in the middle of a blizzard he wasn't sure. He had just been informed there was a communication waiting for him, and had walked a mile in the snow, only to discover that the public station was shut down for the night. He walked another mile to the nearest military outpost, where a sleepy Guardsman informed him he would get the resident tech-priest, leaving Lachimedes in the snow. Finally a clang announced the bolt being thrown, and Lachimedes hurried into the glow of the interior lamps. Inside it was much warmer, making even the smooth black marble gothic arches looked good after white nothingness. The Tech-priest was an unusual one, apparently completely human, with only a monocular eye to show his kind's usual self- modification. Yet there were bulges on the back of his hairless cranium above the top of the neck of his scarlet robe that showed that there were at least internal modifications.  
  
When the Tech-priest spoke, his mouth did not move. Instead, his voice came from a servo-skull hovering above his right shoulder. The voice was metallic, and sounded like the Tech-priest was gargling. "May-I-help-you-I- am-Tech-priest -Argoth-and-I-maintain-the-transmitters-for-this-region-of- Niri."  
  
The Inquisitor's mouth twitched, almost like a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "I am Inquisitor Lachimedes. I was informed you had a transmission for me."  
  
The servo-skull's front dipped in an approximation of a nod. "Yes-came- today-from-Terra-bears-Inquisitorial-seal-please-follow-me." The Tech- priest's body shook suddenly, like a shiver, and then levitated completely off the floor. With the accompanying skull, Argoth drifted down the dark corridor, drifting left and right to avoid passing servitors and other servo-skulls. Shaking his head in amazement, the Inquisitor followed. Argoth stopped in front of a data terminal set in a recess. His body glided forward and began to punch buttons, but was staring into the blank stone of the wall above the recess. The servo-skull, however, had its eyes fixed on the terminal. Soon words came up on the screen, along with the familiar Inquisitorial seal: Transmitted: Terra Received: Niri  
  
Telepathic Duct: Astropath-Terminus Adarus Liegelus  
  
Author: {INSUFFICIENT SECURITY CLEARANCE} :][: To Inquisitor Lachimedes :][: A situation has come to my attention, needing experience and not a steadfastly loyal man. In the past year, you have repeatedly defied orders and allowed yourself to become tainted by the enemy. My colleagues and I have conferred, and have decided that to one of your years and former prestige it is only right to give you one more chance. That last chance is upon you. One month ago, an Inquisitor was sent to the planet Ettrick in the Nilevon sector to investigate rumors of cultists. Not only were we correct, an hour after his ship arrived the cultists completed a dire ceremony and sent a massive beacon into the warp. A day later, a massive army led by a Greater Daemon smashed through the planetary defenses to destroy the opposing armies utterly. It is believed that he attacked Ettrick because the cultists have information regarding the location of the Black Library; that fabled center of lore that our own Inquisitor Czevak has made his lifelong quest. You are hereby ordered to leave Niri and land on Ettrick by any means necessary. You must find out if the cultists actually have information and if they do take it and kill the traitors. Either way, as soon as you know the outcome you are authorized to once use any method, this time to get yourself out. Know you these two things: First, your punishment is not over. To show that you have gotten over your colorful past, you must work with the Inquisitor already on Ettrick, your dear friend young Comyn. Second, you are not free. We shall inspect your conduct very carefully on this one, Lachimedes. If you stray but a little you will be dead faster than you can blink. Much rides on this. Do not fail. {INSUFFICIENT SECURITY CLEARANCE} "Comyn, awake." The voice of the Terminator entered the young Inquisitor's dreams and he started awake, to stare up into the face of a strange man. His fists immediately lashed out, striking the stranger in the chest and the shoulder, yet he did not flinch and Comyn felt like he was punching a rock. Comyn spun away, started to go for his staff, but hesitated when he saw that the man took no offensive action, but stood with his arms at his sides. The man was tall, at least 6'6", with long brown hair framing a narrow face, with a neat goatee kept well-trimmed.  
  
Comyn sputtered. "Who are you? What do you want?"  
  
In response, the man pointed to a nearby rock. Yet it wasn't a rock, but a suit of armor, laid out with its arms and legs tucked close, and empty. Terminator armor. Comyn's face turned red as he turned back to the man. "So. uh. You're the Chaplain."  
  
"Yes." The Space Marine's voice was even deeper not coming through a speaker, and more resonant.  
  
"Where are Damon and Kayla?"  
  
"On the other side of the hill, eating some kind of lizard."  
  
Comyn was startled. "Lizard?"  
  
The Chaplain's eyebrows raised a little bit, obviously his dignified version of a shrug. "I have eaten worse."  
  
Comyn shivered, and went in search of the other normal people.  
  
Damon and Kayla were hunched together over a small fire, giggling every so often. Damon obviously heard Comyn coming, for his elbow hit Kayla's ribs and they immediately shut up. Damon moved something in front of him, then turned and stood up, holding what appeared to be a burnt salamander on a stick, struggling not to laugh. "Here, lord Comyn, have some Space Marine- oops, Salamander, I mean lizard!" He and Kayla burst out laughing again. Comyn chuckled. "That could be considered heresy, you know." This sent Damon and Kayla into new batches of hysteria. In a setting far different, Inquisitor Lord Christov Nimetovik hunched forward on his black throne, his leonine mane of golden hair hanging down through his fingers where his head rested upon them. Alone in a circle of torchlight, the Inquisitor was nevertheless certain that things moved in the corners of his vision, whenever his bloodshot eyes looked up through his hands. It was over, he was sure of it. All of his careful plans would crash and burn, because of a strong new Inquisitor and an inept bumbling old one. Josiah had gone ahead and appointed them both to this thorn in his side that was ever growing larger. Abruptly his head came up, staring into the shadows. There it was again; a scraping, rasping noise, like. like a mechanical body scraping along the ground. Nimetovik laughed harshly. "Hello, my darling one."  
  
A hoarse, ragged voice came from the darkness. "May you burn in hell, Nimetovik."  
  
Nimetovik stood up, letting his shaggy hair fall into its accustomed place hanging to his shoulders. His night-black robes flowed around him, giving him the appearance of a moving shadow. "Come, now, that's no way to talk to your brother." He stepped forward. "Especially when you enter his sanctum uninvited."  
  
A horrific shape dragged itself into the light. It had once been a man, which was made clear by the areas of flesh still visible, but was now modified beyond comprehension. The right arm and upper right torso still had skin, but the arm ended in a four fingered claw, while the other arm was entirely metal, ending abruptly in trailing wires and torn metal. The same could be said for the left leg, only it was entirely gone, while the other was a strange conglomeration of parts from at least seven different beings. Its head was flesh from the chin up until right below the cranium, where it became metal once more.  
  
"You have visitors. I hope they kill you."  
  
Nimetovik stepped forward, and patted the horrific being on the head like a dog. "Thank you, my love. Be good and I'll give you a treat, all right?"  
  
He stepped past the machine/man and through the high adamantite door of his chamber, sealing it and the horrible creature behind him. He proceeded down a long hallway lined with grisly trophies; skulls, weapons, bones, and other body parts. A yellowed scroll bearing the history of each hung beneath it, with the lines scrawled in a small hand Nimetovik knew to be his own. He cast an admiring glance at them as he pulled the massive bar from the outer door of his tower.  
  
The massive iron portal creaked open slowly, as Nimetovik steeled himself to perfect discipline, fighting his emotions and feelings back into the dark recesses of his mind where he knew they belonged. When the door opened far enough to reveal his visitor, Nimetovik was disgusted to find that it was not Josiah as he had hoped, but the short and irritating Inquisitor Lachimedes, who stepped slowly forward. Damnation, he should have sent the machine. There were voices in the mist. As Comyn stood back to back with the Chaplain, another horrifying scream echoed out of the darkness, accompanied by babbling voices, despairing, in pain, and screaming in utter damnation. Comyn heard Kayla's voice, over the multitude, crying out. "Damon, Damon! Comyn! Anyone, help!" It suddenly dawned on Comyn that she was truly yelling this, and the voice came from over the broken ridge left by a mortar shell striking the hill.  
  
"Uh, milord Chaplain, should we go to her aid?"  
  
The Chaplain did not respond, merely stood staring into the mists.  
  
"That's it!" At another yell from the unseen woman, he charged toward the gap. To his relief, the Terminator charged as well. They crashed over the ridge, and were half running, half sliding, down the opposite slope when Comyn slipped on a pile of rubble. Comyn got one sight of Kayla beating a crowd of mutants away with a lit torch before everything blurred into one continuous bumping and grinding sensation.  
  
Damon whirled, greatcoat swinging around him like a cape, and drilled another bolt through the skull of an attacking mutant. These weren't the ordinary mutants one found below the streets on any normal hive world. This group of unappealing variants on the human norm bore the unmistakeable marks of Chaos; horns, tentacles, acid saliva, the list went on. Nearby he heard a battlecry as Comyn crested the ridge, but he lost sight of the youthful Inquisitor as the mutants closed the gap.  
  
Kayla was down to hand-to-hand combat, swinging a metal lamppost and pressed against a wall. She parried fiercely, swinging as hard as she could, ignoring the stunning vibrations that ran down the improvised club to her hands.  
  
The Chaplain waded into the mutants as if into water, swinging the mighty crozius like a blind man sweeps his staff. Mutants flew everywhere, smashing into walls, through signs, and generally flying.  
  
Damon and Kayla were back to back now, fighting in a grim silence, with gasps of exertion the only sound they made, with a cry of pain whenever a mutant club, blade, or claw got through their whirling weapons. Damon had only taken one wound, a glancing blow to the chin, but Kayla's arms had numerous cuts and bruises on them, and a matted clump of hair showed where a blade had nicked her scalp. The mutants showed no signs of ceasing, though over twenty of their number lay dead. The superhuman Space Marine had disappeared some time before; Damon only hoped the warrior lived. As for Comyn, their had been neither hide nor tail of him visible since his breakneck charge and subsequent fall. A mutant came in, broken pipe slashing. Damon blocked, fell to one knee, and lashed out with one foot, crushing the mutant's misshapen kneecap and knocking him over. Damon pulled his pistol, shot hit him in the face, and turned to blow the head off another incoming enemy.  
  
Kayla fared no better, killing one just to have another bear down on her. Then as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The surviving mutants faded into the mist, leaving their dead in bloody piles.  
  
Damon immediately thought of Comyn and the Chaplain. "Lord Comyn? Milord Chaplain? Are-!" Kayla's hand clamped over his mouth. "Shut up, you plank," she hissed, "Why do you think those twists left? They're running away from something!" Damon got it, and when Kayla withdrew her hand he made his way to a fallen column, and with the girl beside him crouched behind it. Coming through the mist was the most unlikely sound to be heard in such a forsaken place- the loud bellows of an Imperial Guard Sergeant. "An' a lef', right, lef' right lef'!" A rank of eight emerged from the mist, lead by an Imperial Guard Colonel in all his proud glory. Then another.  
  
Damon leapt to his feet. "Hey! Boy am I glad to see you!" But the Imperial Guardsmen showed no sign of responding, merely marching onward in their ranks. Damon fell into step with one. "Excuse me, what regiment are you?" No response. Damon turned tot he next. "Excuse me, what regiment are you?" The soldier didn't bat an eyelash. Damon turned- and stopped. For while the regiment marched on, he could go no further. He stood next to a massive pile of rubble, all that remained of a massive triumphal arch, destroyed with the first bombard, judging by the ordnance blastmarks. Yet the regiment continued, marching through an arch that wasn't there. Lachimedes scrubbed the viewport with the sleeve of his jacket, hoping to get a look at Ettrick. He finally cleared an area small enough, and pressed his eye to the hole. However, the result was disappointing, as all of the once-fertile agriworld was covered in gray, featurless clouds. Lachimedes was craning his neck, trying to get a better look, when the pilot touched his arm. Lachimedes stood up, immediately regretting the motion, as his head smashed into the protruding support beam in the shuttle's dorsal side. Rubbing it and cursing, he turned his irritation on the pilot. "What, why did you startle me like that. Impudent young man, you have no respect for your elders!" The pilot snickered. "As you say, my lord."  
  
A guardsman named Lenox had been assigned to Lachimedes as a guard, but Lachimedes was completely sure that the man was a spy. This man now sat in the crew compartment, polishing his gun. Everything about him screams Administratum. How stupid does Nimetovik think I am? Lachimedes knew in his heart, though, that the obviousness of the spy was just another warning his sinister leader had given him. He fervently hoped he would survive this, though... it was doubtful. Eretar, loyal servant of Tzeentch, was not happy. Somehow, an entire regiment of Imperial Guard had landed on his world, destroyed hisarmy, and embarrassed the sorcerer to his master.  
  
A mutant came from behind a broken column, with a humped back and one enormous eye. "Masssterrrrrr..."  
  
Eretar did not mean to snap, yet he did so instinctively. "What do you want?"  
  
The mutant cowered. "Please don't hurt ussss, masssterrr!"  
  
Eretar balled his power-armored fist. forcing the emotions from his mind. They were for the frenzied orgies of Slaanesh, and had no place in the mind of a sorcerer.  
  
"Yes, Servus, what is happening now?"  
  
"We foundssss uss a humie, masssterrr!" Two more mutants, similarly deformed, dragged a senseless figure into the open and tossed him onto the hard stone of the destroyed plaza. Eretar smiled under his helmet. Kneeling, he drew the human up until his eyes were level with the sorcerer's own. "Wake up."  
  
Comyn's eyes opened and became immediately wide with fear. "Hello, Comyn, my old friend." 


End file.
